


before winter comes, you must embrace your fate

by meng_ren



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar won, F/M, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:42:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9711854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meng_ren/pseuds/meng_ren
Summary: The Targaryens won Robert's Rebellion, and Prince Rhaegar became King after declaring a Great Council. However, he died of injuries suffered on the Trident soon afterwards.Aegon VI Targaryen now rules the Seven Kingdoms, and his brother Jon is Prince of Dragonstone. On his trip north to Winterfell, though, the silver-haired king encounters a girl with a wild nature and a direwolf named after an ancient Dornish queen.Perhaps something about the Starks' wolf blood does indeed entice young Targaryens.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into writing for this fandom. 
> 
> I was inspired to write an ASOIAF fanfic after coming across another fic with a similar premise: the Targaryens won, but Rhaegar died and Aegon became king. I didn't like the direction that story was going, so I decided to write my own story. 
> 
> Along the way, though, I read starbursts_and_kisses' _White Walls and Paper Hearts_. Afterwards, I bought myself a ticket on the Arya/Aegon ship and haven't looked back. I hope this story isn't too similar to any other works. Hopefully my readers enjoy.

**\---Aegon---**

Jon had never seen snow before.

The King came to that realization as the royal procession neared Winterfell. King Aegon, Queen Mother Elia, and half the court at King’s Landing had made the grueling trudge up to the North. Officially, the court was touring the Seven Kingdoms so that Aegon could find a bride. They had gone first to Storm’s End, and then to Highgarden, without success.

For that matter, _he_ had seen snow only once. The last winter in Westeros had been an extremely mild one, and Aegon could only remember light snowflakes falling around King’s Landing. Aegon also remembered that Jon had been sent south that year, to live at Dorne’s Water Gardens. Today was still fall, and the snow was coming in early in the North.

Jon was seventeen, considered a grown man, yet he looked like he was about to cry. The snow fell thick and dense, clumping on Jon’s shoulders and cloak, yet the younger man did not move, instead preferring to face the sky and feel the Northern wind on his face.

 _He has never felt this before,_ Aegon thought, as he rode alongside his brother and patted the snow from the younger man’s shoulders.

“Are you feeling well, Jon?” Aegon asked gently, as the two of them continued to ride side-by-side. Two members of the Kingsguard, Ser Jaime and Ser Loras, flanked them on the left and right. Behind them rode Queen Elia’s wheelhouse. “I’m freezing.”

Aegon had stated the remark casually, yet Jon seemed to take it as a request or a command. The man reached over to pull off his own cloak and offer it to his king, had not Aegon put his hand on Jon’s shoulders again.

“You’re cold, Your Majesty,” said the prince, a look of worry in his long, solemn face.

It was true. He was shivering. Aegon turned to Ser Jaime on his left to bark a command. “Have somebody fetch me a cloak,” he said, and the Kingsguard relayed the order to one of the squires. Only then did he turn back to Jon. “It’s the Dornish blood in me. I think we’ve run out of the dragon peppers and chilis that we brought up. What _do_ they serve here in the North? I’ve never eaten elk or bear. I don’t even want to.”

Aegon gave a laugh as he watched the look of disappointment on Jon’s face. His younger brother, though half-Northern by blood, had grown up purely on Southron fare, relishing food full of spice and flavors that brought heat to the mouth.

But the mention of blood was a touchy subject for the Prince of Dragonstone, all these years. Jon had been born a bastard, son of then- _Prince_ Rhaegar’s Northern paramour. Their father had legitimized Jon after becoming King, almost two decades ago, but there were those at court who thought Jon should never inherit a crown. Yet Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen, as the rest of the realm called Jon, was legally Aegon’s heir.

King Aegon stopped momentarily as his squire rode up with another cloak from the wheelhouse. Bran Stark, a boy of twelve, had served as the king’s squire for two autumn years. It would be time to return this hostage to Winterfell. On the trip down, the royal train would travel with another hostage, some member of the Stark family or another.

“Thank you,” Aegon said politely, wrapping the second, sturdier cloak of fur around himself. He frowned when he noted the material, and frowned again when he realized Jon had noticed as well. It was a cloak made of wolf pelt. Aegon’s eyes met Jon’s, so that the king could indicate his displeasure as well, but the king said nothing.

It could have been a completely innocent gesture, but Aegon knew it could have carried so many meanings. Queen Mother Elia Martell, formerly the Queen Regent, had never exactly forgiven Prince Rhaegar for publicly crowning Lyanna Stark as Queen of Love and Beauty. She was distraught when Lyanna Stark bore Rhaegar’s bastard son, before dying in childbirth. She had been beside herself when King Rhaegar legitimized Jaehaerys Snow as Jaehaerys Targaryen. The King died two days after that, finally succumbing to wounds suffered at the Battle of the Trident a year previous.

The Dornishwoman could have forgiven her husband for taking a paramour in private and would have tolerated a bastard kept out of sight. But Rhaegar had humiliated her in front of every lord the day the smiles died, by declaring that his true and legal wife was now secondary to his new love. And her antipathy resurfaced, after Rhaegar died.

Queen Regent Elia ruled for the first twelve years of Aegon’s reign, assisted by the Small Council comprising Targaryen loyalists largely from the Reach and Dorne. Notables such as Prince Oberyn Martell, Prince Doran Martell, and Lord Mace Tyrell all sat on the Small Council at various times. Lord Tywin Lannister, whose loyalties were suspect, also carried great influence.

As ruler, Elia had tried to make Prince Jaehaerys a nobody. She had been worried, in Aegon’s mind unreasonably, that Jon would form ties with Northern lords and seize the throne from his brother. After all, aggrieved lords from the Reach and Stormlands had backed the Blackfyre pretenders, as a reaction to Dornish influence in the Targaryen court. Elia forbade Jon from being fostered in Winterfell, or any other castle which had risen up during Robert’s Rebellion. When Robb Stark and Bran Stark arrived as hostages, Elia forbade Jon from becoming too close to them too.

Elia’s plans to foster Jon with the Sealord of Braavos or the Prince of Pentos were rejected as being too similar to exile. Prince Doran, though, took the young Prince as his foster for several months. Though Aegon had no memory of it, he was later told that _he_ was partly responsible for bringing Jon back from Dorne. Apparently, he and his sister Rhaenys hardly ate or slept in the time Jon was away, sick at their brother’s absence. Elia compromised by having Jon raised on nearby Dragonstone.

At court, Queen Elia refused to proclaim Jon as her son, referring to him only as the Prince of Dragonstone. In private she was cordial and distant, though somewhat involved in Jon’s upbringing. If she had ever loved Jon at all, it was only because of the love that Aegon and Rhaenys had for their half-brother. And so it was left to the Hand of the King, Lord Jon Connington, to serve as Prince Jaehaerys’ surrogate father. Jaehaerys had taken the name Jon for short, in honor of the man who had effectively raised him.

“It’s a wolf pelt,” said Jon softly, under his breath, as he looked at Aegon’s second cloak.

Aegon nodded, spreading the cloak before him. “It’s making me feel warmer already. Beautiful, isn’t it?” He said, running his fingers through the rough fur.

Jon gave a nod, and the two of them continued to ride, talking about everything and nothing. The snow continued to fall around them, white flakes catching in Jon’s black hair.

They arrived at Winterfell at dusk, just in time. There are several men at the gates to greet them, from various houses. Aegon chiefly saw the grey direwolf banner of the Starks, but also the white sunburst of House Karstark, the chained giant of House Umber, the white merman of House Manderly, the black axe of House Cerwyn, and the brown moose of House Hornwood.

The man who rode up first to greet him had Jon’s grey eyes and dark hair now streaked with gray. Aegon could have believed that this man, not King Rhaegar, had been Jon’s father. The sigil of the direwolf was on his armor. This man must have been Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell.

“Your Majesty,” said the man, tilting his head down in the closest thing to a bow that these Northmen could do. “I trust that your ride was well.”

“It was cold,” Aegon said with a smile. He turned to Jon next to him. “Lord Stark, I hope you recognize my brother Jaehaerys by name or appearance.”

Aegon watched the younger man and the older man look at each other, just for a second. Then the two men simultaneously dismounted and ran to each other, embracing. They had never seen each other before, yet they greeted each other as if they had been father and son.

“You are Lyanna’s son,” Lord Stark said, and Aegon saw tears in the man’s eyes. _Tears!_ The man was Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell and reportedly the most stoic man in the Seven Kingdoms, and he was crying.

The King turned away, immensely pleased with himself, yet feeling like an intruder. He turned to the other Northern lords and recognized Robb Stark, Lord Stark's first-born, as the first among them. The heir to Winterfell was a redhead with blue eyes, but his pose indicated that he was a true Stark. When Aegon looked Robb in the eye, he realized that the other man shared his thoughts. _Leave Ned Stark with his nephew. This is their time._ And so Aegon rode on first, flanked by his Kingsguard, into Winterfell.

The Northmen had already prepared some food ahead of them. Aegon broke bread with Robb first, quaffed down a pint of strong ale, and greeted the other lords and nobles present. The other two lords present were Lord Greatjon Umber, enormous and fierce, and Lord Rickard Karstark, also large and bearded. Ser Wylis Manderly, Ser Daryn Hornwood, and Ser Cley Cerwyn were all present, representing their fathers who could not yet be present. Ned Stark remained in the godswood outside Winterfell, while his wife Lady Catelyn Tully was welcoming her son Bran back. Robb Stark may have presided over the feast, but it was the two Northern lords that Aegon wanted to impress the most. These Northern houses, all of them, had risen up against the Iron Throne during Robert’s Rebellion. Aegon would need to remind them who was King.

“Your Majesty is damn pretty,” boomed the Greatjon, looking at Aegon’s fine features. “But perhaps that is the Southron way.”

Aegon smiled at the jab. “I accept your compliment, Lord Umber, but I think it does a disservice to the North. My brother Jaehaerys is my equal in appearance, and he is a half a wolf.”

“A second pretty one then,” said Lord Karstark, “even if his mother is a Stark.”

The King cracked open another loaf of bread. “Perhaps the pretty ones are the ones you need to worry about. I remember at Lady Whent’s tourney at Harrenhall two years ago, Ser Garlan Tyrell defeated the Greatjon, Ser Jaime unhorsed the Smalljon, and Ser Loras Tyrell defeated your son Harrion. All pretty, everyone of them.”

“A tourney is a poor substitute for battle,” grumbled Lord Karstark. “I have been in many.”

“My father was adept at both,” countered Aegon. “His lance was as true at the Trident as it was at Lord Whent’s tourney during the False Spring.”

The Greatjon gave a laugh that rumbled throughout the room. “You are right there, Your Majesty. I was at both. When will we see _you_ in a tourney?”

“On my next name day, in King’s Landing,” Aegon said with a smile. “I would cross lances with either of my Lords.”

Lord Karstark raised an eyebrow and gave a smirk. “If my son unhorses you in the joust then you will marry my daughter,” he said, now negotiating.

“And if it my son that unhorses you, then you marry his daughter instead,” said the Greatjon.

Aegon dismissed both suggestions with a smile as he stared at his cup of ale. These Northern houses might have pretended to be above the politics of the South, Aegon thought, but they are as wily and manipulative as any of the Lords Paramount. Yet he was getting into their confidences, the way a King should. He hoped to leave the North secure, with or without a marriage to a Northern girl.

Then Lady Stark finally entered, with her two daughters at her sides. And the sight forced him to take a gulp.

He had come this far north on Lord Stark’s invitation. The Lord of Winterfell had written that his daughter Sansa was a fair and comely woman of seventeen years, and hoped that she would please the king. And Aegon agreed with Lord Stark. Sansa was attractive, with a slender waist and slender arms, and her auburn hair fell to her waist.

But it was the younger girl that caught his eye, when she took one look at the King, rolled her eyes, and left her mother’s side to sit down by herself. She was shorter than her sister, only up to the king’s chest, and her brown hair fell only to her shoulders. Nonetheless, there was a fierce independence in her grey eyes, and her pretty face had a wolf’s sleekness to it.

Aegon could already feel his face turn red.

“Arya Stark!” Catelyn had said, turning to the youngest Stark daughter. “Please, present yourself to the King.”

The two Stark daughters walked to the front of the Great Hall before Aegon, doing their necessary courtesies, though Arya looked far more reluctant in doing so. The girl looked to the side as she spread her satin gown and bent the knee in a curtsy, and then hastily stood up. She tried to make herself seated besides Halys Hornwood and his bastard brother Larence Snow, but Catelyn grabbed her arm.

“And sit by your brother, until your father gets back,” said Catelyn.

Arya made her way to the table, sitting to Rob’s left, and thus two seats away from Aegon, who was on Robb’s right. Sansa sat on the King’s right, soon making conversation with the Queen Mother next to her. As she did, Aegon could feel his eyes constantly lingering on Arya, who would turn to look at Aegon, glare, and turn back to her food.

Aegon was sure he was flushed red like a beet, but thankfully Robb did not notice, as he was talking to Arya too.

“Arya,” Robb said, nudging his sister in the ribs. “What took you and Mother so long?”

“She had to find me,” Arya stabbed at a piece of beef with her fork. “And then I had to wash up, and then I fought over what dress I was going to wear.”

“Does it take the old gods and the new to put you in a gown?” Robb said with a jest. “What were you doing before that?”

“Well,” Arya said, squirming in her dress, “I was practicing my swordwork first with Syrio, and then rode horses around the courtyard, and then I foraged for mushrooms and roots in the wolfswood.”

“You’re sixteen,” said Robb with a smile, as he ruffled his younger sister’s hair. “You’ve been doing that for ten years. Aren’t you tired of it?”

“No,” Arya said, sticking her tongue out. “It’s far better than being stuck inside. Septa Mordane only makes me practice stitches.”

“Maester Luwin says you are good at practicing sums and reading,” Robb said.

“Yes, but they’re boring,” Arya said, between bites.

“And you’re not worried about being alone in the wolfswood?” Robb asked, putting care into his voice.

“You don’t have to worry about me, big brother, because Nymeria was there with me,” Arya answered.

The name made Aegon sit up straight, and his curiosity was too much to bear. He might have otherwise been content to sit in his seat and steal looks at the Stark girl all night, but the name of a fierce Dornish queen sent shocks up Aegon’s spine. The famous queen and Princess of the Rhoynar led the Rhoynish people from Essos to Westeros on ten thousand ships, and she conquered Dorne to become the ancestress of the Martells. She was Dorne's icon and heroine.

“If I may interrupt,” said Aegon, now looking over, “but who is Nymeria?”

The wolf girl turned to look at the King with disdain.

“Nymeria,” she said, “is my pet direwolf.”

And Aegon’s jaw dropped.

 

**\---Jon---**

The King was ecstatic, Jon realized, as he watched the other man bounce around.

King Aegon VI Targaryen was eighteen years old, and beautiful. His sharp nose, violet eyes, and long eyelashes contrasted well with the tan skin that indicated his Dornish blood, and his elegant features suggested preternatural wisdom and maturity. His tall figure and lean muscle, however, marked him as a fighter. By appearance, then, Aegon could make women swoon and fill men with jealousy.

But right now Aegon looked as excited as a small child who had been given a new and fancy toy.

“A _direwolf_ , Jon, can you believe it?” Aegon said, and Jon knew it took all of the King’s self-control to stop from giggling. “A direwolf hasn’t been seen south of the Wall in centuries. They’re huge, bigger than some horses. They can rip a man in half with a single bite. And Arya says that all of the Stark siblings have one.”

They were in Lord Stark’s room in Winterfell now, the only room in the castle fit for a king, with Aegon sitting on Lord Stark’s bed, and Jon sitting on a spare bed. It was time to sleep now, and Jon was tired. His uncle had told him so much: about his mother Lyanna, and about his father Rhaegar, and about stories that were at odds with the official histories down in King’s Landing, and all Jon wanted to do was to lay on his bed and rest.

Instead, he had to make sure his _older_ brother didn’t burst into flames in excitement.

“Bran never mentioned this to me,” said Jon with a frown. He had never been permitted to be friendly with the Stark boy, even though he was permitted to speak and converse with his cousins. The Queen Mother would have been too suspicious if he had befriended his cousin, so he took the courtesy of obeying her.

“It’s supposed to be a secret,” said Aegon, gushing, “so don’t tell anybody. Not even Mother. And I get to see a real direwolf, tomorrow.”

“As if you can keep a secret,” scoffed Jon. “How long do you want to guess before Tyene finds out?”

Tyene Sand, bastard daughter of Dorne’s Oberyn Martell, had joined the royal procession as one of her aunt Elia’s handmaidens. Jon had known her since he and Aegon played together in Prince Doran Martell’s Water Gardens, growing up together. Aegon thought of her as kin because of their shared Martell ancestry. Jon felt close to the Sand Snake because Tyene had also been born a bastard.

But Tyene now shared a bed with the King. On many nights during this trip, Tyene and Aegon would embrace each other, undress each other, and slip under the covers while exchanging sensuous, open-mouthed kisses. Jon was polite enough to fall asleep instead of eavesdropping on what the king chose to do.

“What about Tyene?” Aegon said, looking puzzled.

“Isn’t she your paramour?” Jon asked, now looking confused. But he assumed that he interpreted Aegon’s relationship with Tyene correctly. It had discomforted Jon on this trip: Aegon was coming up north to possibly marry a Stark girl, yet he chose to bring his Dornish lover along.

“No!” Aegon said, with a look of horror. “We’re cousins! She’s my childhood friend. We used to play together at the Water Gardens.”

“You’re telling me you haven’t slept with her?” Jon was skeptical. His brother could be a kid at times. He half-suspected Aegon didn’t realize he had found himself a paramour.

“I have,” Aegon said, turning red and looking away, “but it was two years ago! It felt really good at first, but then I realized she was my cousin. We haven’t done anything since, I swear.”

“So what is she to you?” Jon asked.

“She’s my bed warmer, and I mean that in the simplest and purest way. We share a bed because I get cold easily,” Aegon said, now looking a bit more serious. “We get cold easily. It’s our Dornish blood.”

Jon gave a harrumph. “Anyways, I’m sure Tyene will find out.”

As if right on cue, a girl in a white dress came in, performing a cartwheel and landing on the bed next to Aegon. She slid her arms around Aegon’s waist, and gave the king a peck on the cheek. “Find out what?” She asked.

Jon recognized those blue eyes and blond hair instantly. It would only be a matter of seconds before Aegon was spilling everything.

“AryaStark’sdirewolfisnamedNymeriaandtomorrowIgettoseeher,” Aegon blurted out in one word, forcing Tyene to put a finger to his lips.

“Slowly, and breathe,” she said.

Aegon closed his eyes, opened them, and was giddy once more. “Arya Stark, Lord Stark’s daughter, has a giant direwolf named Nymeria. She’s going to let me see her tomorrow. I even get to pet her.”

“Nymeria? Like the Rhoynar queen who conquered Dorne?” Tyene asked.

Aegon nodded, eyes wide.. “Yes, like Queen Nymeria. We get to see her tomorrow. Do you want to join us?”

Tyene nodded as well, before she drew her mouth closer to Aegon. She gave the King a kiss on the neck, and then leaned over to bite lightly at the King’s earlobe. Aegon smiled and gave Tyene a kiss on the lips.

It was Jon’s turn to smile, and he lay back in the bed. Maybe he had misjudged Tyene and Aegon's relationship. Perhaps the cousins were really just friends. He could hear Tyene and Aegon whispering to each other as they undressed, but he chose to stay awake for just a few more minutes. To his surprise, it was Aegon and Tyene who fell asleep first.

When Jon did fall asleep, he dreamt of wolves.

The next day, Jon and Aegon went to the direwolf first thing in the morning. Tyene would join them, after she finished her duties with Elia.

Arya had been sitting on the floor of Winterfell’s main hall, wearing a clean pair of breeches and a boy’s tunic, and she was petting the sleek but massive direwolf in her lap.

“She’s beautiful,” Aegon said, and Jon could swear that his brother had stopped breathing.

Jon assumed he was talking about the direwolf.

He had met Arya yesterday, after the feast was over, and he thought his cousin was pleasing to the eye. But he also knew that she was his _cousin_ , and that knowledge prevented him from regarding Arya as beautiful. It was a bit like Aegon with Tyene, he assumed.

“Well, come closer,” Arya said, waving the two men closer. “She doesn’t bite unless I tell her to. And then she’d kill you.”

Aegon was too dumbstruck, with a massive, goofy smile, to pay attention. He was physically shaking as he reached to pet the direwolf’s fur.

“I ordered her to take a bath first before I could present her to the King,” Arya said in a matter-of-fact manner. “Normally she loves to roll around in mud, but then she’d smell worse than the swamps in the Neck. And sometimes she goes crazy when she eats, so I had to feed her earlier today. Go on, you can pet her.”

Aegon reached out to slowly stroke the beast’s haunches, rubbing at the hard, bristly fur in a soft motion.

“I have a cousin named Nymeria,” said Aegon.

Jon wanted to smile. When Aegon really liked something, he babbled and said stupid things. His big brother was happy, after all, and he was so glad. All of the marriage talk had been stressful for the King. This direwolf was almost therapy for him.

“How smart is she?” Jon asked his cousin.

“She can do some tricks,” said Arya. “Up, girl.”

She gave a whistle, and Nymeria stood up. Aegon jerked back as the direwolf shook itself off.

“Nym, roll over,” Arya said, and the direwolf obeyed like a dog, displaying its belly.

Jon was sure there were stars in Aegon’s eyes.

“Sit,” Arya said next, and the direwolf got to its feet, and then sat on its hind legs.

The Stark girl went to pat the direwolf on its head. “That’s all I can get her to do. Sometimes she’ll chase after a stick if I throw it, but she won’t chase after a bone. And sometimes, she doesn’t even follow me, and she’ll just sleep while I’m practicing with a sword.”

“A sword?” Jon asked, looking at his cousin.

“Yes,” she answered, sticking her chin out. “My father hired a Braavosi swordsman to help teach me how to wield a sword. Do you want to see?”

Jon answered first. “The King will be here for a fortnight. We might need to treat with Lords Karstark and Umber again, and Lord Manderly arrives tomorrow, so maybe—”

“I’d love to see you practice,” said the King.

And then it dawned on Jon.

His brother was in love.

Jon gave a sigh, and it was his turn to hug Aegon from the back, throwing his arms around the taller man’s shoulders.

“Your Majesty. Aegon. Dear big brother. We need to talk. Now.”

The King looked immensely confused as Jon grabbed him by the hand and lead him to an empty room.

“Jon, what’s wrong?”

“Is this something inherited by blood?”

Jon looked at his older brother.

“What?” Aegon was puzzled.

“This!” Jon pointed at the direction of the hall, where Arya remained with her direwolf. “I heard that you barely looked at Sansa Stark during a feast held specifically to get you to marry her. And now you’re fawning over Arya Stark like a lovestruck fool.”

Aegon frowned. “I’m not a fool. I’m not in love with Arya. I just want to talk to her more and watch her do what she likes doing, and I really like that direwolf of hers.”

“I’ve never seen you like this before! Not with Tyene, not with Myrcella, and not with Margaery.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Jon took a breath, to address a sensitive topic. “Remember my mother?”

The mention of that forced Aegon to pause, looking guilty. “Our father loved her so much that he risked a kingdom, his life, and his family just to be with her, and then she died on the birthing bed. I remember, Jon. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

The younger brother gave a sigh. “Our father was an educated and intelligent man, but his impulses could control him. I don’t want you to do something reckless, falling in love with some wild Northern girl and nearly losing everything.”

Aegon swallowed a gulp, looking guilty and turning away. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Then talk,” Jon said with a hum.

“It wasn’t right what he did, to either of our mothers. He shouldn’t have sprung a paramour on my mother without telling her, and he shouldn’t have crowned your mother the Queen of Love and Beauty. I don’t think it’s right for my mother to treat you so coldly, but I don’t blame her for being suspicious. And I don’t blame Lyanna Stark for anything either.” Aegon reached out to hold one of Jon’s hands in his. “It’s our father’s fault, alone.”

“But if you want to go for Arya,” Jon said, with a pause. “I won’t stop you either.”

“I’m not a fool,” said Aegon haughtily. “I can think clearly. Besides I’ll have a fortnight to decide whether I like Arya Stark, and I can still decide on a wife after I return to King’s Landing. I will be in control of myself.”

Jon gave a smirk. “Let’s see about that.”

As expected, Aegon then proceeded to spend the next two weeks like an idiot. That meant talking to Arya at feasts, watching her practice her swordplay, watching her practice horseback riding, and watching her practice her sums.

It was after Aegon sat in on Arya’s sewing lessons with Septa Mordane that Jon finally confronted his older brother.

“Just ask Lord Stark,” said Jon with an exasperated sigh. “You really are an idiot. You love Arya Stark.”

“No!” Aegon said, face turning red. “I just really like her and want to spend all of my time with her.”

Jon wondered and pondered whether _Arya_ liked Aegon. He figured the girl must have. She hadn’t pushed the king away despite spending two weeks with him. She was all smiles when she practiced the sword with the King, and the two of them would talk together when the King hunted with the Northern lords. And Arya even once let Nymeria rest on Aegon’s lap.

“It’s because she can tell you have the blood of Queen Nymeria in her,” Arya had said, and then she had given Aegon a kiss on the cheek, even while Jon was watching.

Perhaps Arya did like Aegon too.

Jon gave a grin and patted his big brother’s cheek. “Go ask Lord Stark. I think your heart has made a decision.”

 

**\---Ned Stark---**

The Lord of Winterfell could not sleep, and he said as much to his lady wife next to him.

“Another one. Another one. By the old gods and the new, there is another one,” he said, staring up at the ceiling.

“Another what?” Lady Catelyn answered, reading a book by candlelight.

“This is the second silver-haired Targaryen seeking the wolf-daughter of a Lord of Winterfell. First it was Lyanna, and now it is Arya. The last time ended in disaster. What will this offer mean?”

“The last time, it was a married Crown Prince. Today it is a King, and a bachelor,” Catelyn had answered. “The King has offered a fine deal, letting Arya go with him to King’s Landing, so that Arya can decide if she wants to marry him.”

“She’ll be in King’s Landing. It’ll be too hot for her.”

“She will tell us if she’s worried about that.”

“He brought his bed warmer here.”

“King Aegon explained that Tyene Sand is his friend and cousin only.”

“Targaryens can be mad.”

“Targaryens can be good too.”

“What about Martells? Can they be good too? Will the Queen Mother permit this? She has never been happy about Rhaegar’s affair with Lyanna.”

“You will need to see. Does Elia blame Rhaegar or does she blame Lyanna?”

Ned paused, trying to think of more arguments.

“Arya is still young.”

“She has flowered. She is a woman. Besides, Aegon said he will not marry her for another two years, to see if she loves him and King’s Landing and his family. She can change her mind.”

Ned Stark continued to stare at the ceiling. _Why must I worship the old gods, the gods of caprice and change, instead of the supposedly-benevolent new gods?_ He turned over in his bed, still thinking.

“It will need to be her choice,” he added, with one last word.

“She may have already decided,” Catelyn answered.

 

**\---Aegon---**

He felt like he was intruding on sacred ground.

The body of Lyanna Stark was here, among these crypts, and it was here that all those with Stark blood were present. There was Lord Eddard and Robb and Sansa closest to the statute of the dead woman. Bran and Rickon were wandering the crypts, but Arya was beside her king, holding his hand. And then there was Jon, in front of the statute, looking like he would cry.

“She was supposed to be beautiful,” said Aegon dryly, not knowing what to say but unable to tolerate the silence.

“She was,” said Lord Stark, “even though she only lived one year longer than Arya.”

The meaning behind Ned Stark’s words were heavy, and Aegon bit his tongue.

“Did she smile?” Jon asked, still looking only at the statute.

“She would be smiling now,” said Lord Stark sadly. “The beautiful dragon and the wolf-girl. She would have loved to sing that story.”

They left the next day.

Jon and Aegon were on horseback, and Arya would have been too.

But the Queen Mother had opened the door to her wheelhouse, extending a slender and graceful hand to Arya to let the girl in.

“Come in,” said the Queen Mother with a smile. “Let me learn why Starks can capture Targaryen hearts.”

And then they left south on the Kingsroad, before winter was upon them.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/west_of_autumn). I welcome your thoughts, suggestions, and comments!


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